'"Mtmkfmt for Wmn 



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By 

Edward Brooks, Jr. 




€@pirrliht@d, A. D. 191S. 



•a!) 






0;A418151 



D£C 23 1315 



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1 1 O my grandmotlier^ 
^ to whom I owe a 
great number of the joys 
of my childhood^ this 
little book is lovingly 
dedicated. 



rime is long, distance great; 

The mail is never sure of late^ 

But when this finally does get through^ 

'Twill tell you that I think of you. 



rn' 



m 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/breakfastfortwooOObroo 



Wmxr 

MtmMwA for ^ma. 

A room in the early morning, a room that 

contains just two, 
Perhaps it appeals to me, much more than 

it appeals to you. 
Under certain conditions, this room is my 

chief delight; 
These make it ever the basis of man's 

great might. 

Life and its vital interests begin in the 
early morn. 

As you spring from your bed quickly at 
the sound of the breakfast horn. 

The meal must be quite ample, the com- 
pany most kind, 

In order that you may go through the day 
in a peaceful frame of mind. 

A day with a good beginning comes to a 
happy close; 

And many a man such happy days away 
in hisi memory stows. 

A room in the early morning, a room that 
contains just two, 

If things don't start out right, no one is 
to blame but you. 

MORAL) 

Be cheerful in the morning, be cheerful 
as you feed; 

And leave the house with a blessing, and 
a wishing of **God speed.'' 




"My Gramma's House." 






M^ (^mmmu'B 1^0110^. 



When I was a little boy, and a circus came 

to town; 
My mother asked me, if I'd rather go to 

Gram 'ma's or to see the clown? 
Now my Gram 'ma lived just ten miles off^ 

in the country on a farm, 
And my Gram 'pa kept a grocery store 

beside his little farm. 
I'd make up my mind at a moment's 

thought; to Gram 'ma's house I'd say. 

My mother thought that coffee was not 

good for little boys. 
Made them nervous, made them small, and 

all that other noise. 
My Uncle Will is six feet two» he weighs 

two hundred pounds; 
My Uncle Claude is five feet eight; they 

never heard such sounds. 
My Grandpa is a great big man ; he drinks 

it every day. 
Then why does mother always say it may 

make you nervous, indeed it surely may. 

When I'm out to Gram 'ma's I have near- 
ly my own way; 

My coffee it ain't only milk that tastes to 
me like whay. 

My Gram 'ma gives me cookies and she lets 
me soak 'em too; 

In fact my Gram 'ma let's me do most 
what I want to do. 



At evening just before bedtime, there's a 

seat outside the door; 
It's just a wagon seat, but then it's springs 

are not so poor; 
Gram 'ma comes and sits beside me, and we 

talk for most an hour. 
Do you wonder that the circus has lost 

for me its power. 




ffagir 



l^i iorain, 



There is a land far to the west 

Beyond the western sea; 
Where I at length will find a rest^ 

And you shall rest with me. 
A land of bliss beyond compare. 

Of optimism pure; 
A home where one may share his bread 

With all deserving poor. 
This land is El Dorado! 

There is a land far to the west^ 

A land of El Dorado! 
Where I at length shall find a rest, 

A land without a shadow. 
A land of joy sublime and fair, 

A land of mirth and laughter; 
To many men this place is known 

As the land of the hereafter. 

The men of old and modern times 

Have sought to gain it's portals; 
It's gates today they stand ajar 

For all we sinful mortals. 
The prince stands at the city gate, 

And bids all come who will; 
The feast is set, the guests are met^^ 

Why do you linger still? 






This life of ours is but a speck 

Compared with life tomorrow; 
A life so grim and full of pain^ 

So filled with many a sorrow, 
A life not worth the price it costs 

In richest blood of sacrifice, 
Were we not sure of one more day^, 

Of one more sun to rise. 

There is a land far to the west 

Beyond the western sea; 
Where 1 at length shall find a test^ 

And you shall rest with me. 
A land of bliss beyond compare, 

Of optimism pure; 
A home where one may share his bread 

With all deserving poon 




"My Grandpa was a Soldier." 



9m^ 



jig ^raiti^fta mm a ^tiihxn. 



My Grandpa was a soldier, he went 
through the Civil War; 

He tells me many stories, of how the 

battles were. 
When Grandma pops me popcorn, he says 

it sounds to him 
Like the sound of far off firing from a 

rebel gun machine. 

My Grandpa says that soldiers have no 

easy time at all; 
That when the bugle sounds they must 

answer every call. 
My Grandpa was with Sherman in his 

march down to the sea, 
He didn't have to walk because, he was in 

the cavalry. 

Bis commander was Kilpatrick, and the 
men all loved him too; 

It wasn't for himself at all, but for just 
what he could do. 

I like to hear the bugle play the march 
down to the sea; 

I love to think that Grandpa was fighting 
there for me. 

tf in years to come this country calls for 
volunteers again, 

1 hope I may be counted with the coun- 
try's truest men. 






K Higift Alum an ®t|^ Praim* 

I sit alone in the darkness, and all is still 
around ; 

The far off bark of the coyote has a 
cheering sort of sound. 

The murmur of the breezes as they whis- 
per through the grass, 

Gives a sound like to the cadence of a 
softly chanted mass. 

Like an evening benediction comes the 
starlight from the skies, 

A.S I lay my head in my saddle, and peace- 
fully close my eyes. 

To my mind is brought the weakness^ of 
we mortals little power 

Of the mightiness of nature, and that 

great and lofty tower, 

That extends a distance upwards, that is 

known to none how far. 
Then I fall asleep a-dreaixiing of a life 

that is to be, 
In a bright and happy country far beyond 

our life's dull sea. 






Temptation sits upon you, 

As a crown upon a queen ; 
You're the fairest little maiden 

That ever eye has seen. 

Your lips are like a rosebud 

That is touched with morning dew; 

My mind it turns to kisses, 
As my eyes are held to you. 

Your eyes are black as carbon 
With a diamond glint behind; 

Yet they show a heart that's beating 
With a love of all mankind. 

Your cheeks are like the morning, 
As its born far in the east; 

Just to cast one's glance upon you 
Is to give one's eyes a feast. 

There is joy in vast abundance 
In the pleasure of your smile, 

It alone and not one other 

Is the joy that is worth while. 






®Jjf ISlxtih (Stump i^g. 

A little tramp dog in the city street, 
Passed each day by many feet; 
With an eye as kind as a thoroughbred, 
Or a poodle who sleeps on a downy bed. 
Who wags his tail in a friendly way, 
As the people pass him every day- 
Is not a tramp from choice. 

A little tramp dog who is sick and cold, 
Whose blood runs slow, tho' he's not old, 
Whose hair comes out for lack of food; 
Who falls in the tracks where he should 
have stood. 

He has no other choice. 

You feed the man who comes to your door^ 
You feed him once and he asks for more; 
Yet you throw no bone to the wayfaring 

dog, 
Who's not spent his life at imbibing grog. 
You have made a foolish choice. 

A dog has no power to earn his bread, 
He cannot ask, but he must be fed; 
There is within him the heart of a friend, 
His own life's blood for you he'd spend. 
Oh, give him a better choice. 



Mifttm 



^pxingilmt. 



In the morning very early ere the dew 

has disappeared, 
Long before the sound of school bell has 

my morning walk discheered. 
Then the blue bird, sweetly singing, 

singing for a mate, 
Flies so swiftly cross my vision that he 

must be late 
To his trysting place. 

From the bushes close beside me into the 

still air, 
Goes a robin homeward flying with a 

piece of hair. 
Flowers are springing by the roadside, 

trees are budding out; 
Oh, 'tis joy to just be living, let's set up 

a shout. 

Across my pathway comes a maiden, fair 

as any maid is fair, 
With bright smiles her face is laden, here 

begins my care. 
Birds and flowers are soon forgotten, 

schools and their text books ; 
All give preference to the maiden, and 

her bright and winning looks. 
Such is youth in spring. 






©in? eillitririj ffldli. 



Vve taken sich a awful cold, and Mary 

Ann has too; 
It's ben two weeks last Sunday since it 

started out and grew\ 
The parson he was preaching on truth and 

sich as that; 
While a draft from some blame winder 

done hit us where we sat. 
[ w^as glad when it was over, and the 

people all arose, 
But when I got up on my feet they both 

was darn near froze. 

The next day Ezry Hopkins came out 

along our way; 
r warn't disposed to help liim for to put 

up some more hay; 
But he's awful hard for squelchin' and 

I had to go by gee. 
We worked till half past leven, and we 

certainly did sweat; 
Then we stripped and went in swimmin' 

I can feel that water yet, 
And it felt a darn sight better than it 

ever did before ; 
Water is that refresliin/ when you^re 

sweatin' to the core. 

After that my cold got worser till f took 

some catnip tea ; 
But I'll tell you very frankly that they's 

no more drafts for me. 



The murmur of the insects is music in 

my ear; 
The noisy little brooklet is sure to give 

me cheer; 
My evil mood is going with a solemn sort 

of treadj 
As if 'twere loath to leave me quite free 

of any dread. 

And the wood is all around, , 

O'er my mind a joy is stealing that I 

cannot quite compare 
With the joy I feel with others as I travel 

here and there. 
Art, literature and culture have their 

pleasures for mankind^ 
But the solitude is better for the 

pleasures of the mind. 

When the wood is all around. 

This is joy beyond conception of the man 

who lives in town; 
His is the joy of glory^ and the lusting for 

a crown. 
Life to me is never sweeter, nor at any 

time more dear, 
Than when I help a fellow to a bit of 

nature's cheer = 

Where the wood is all around. 






We speak of a clay that is finer, 
Of a mind that is more refined, 
Of a heart that beats much stronger 
For the benefit of mankind. 

But God is above in the heavens ; 
He has created men all the same; 
We live, and we blame our brothers 
For what we are ourselves to blame. 

Do we think that a polish of kindness, 
That a veneer of gospel song 
Will lighten the pathway of blindness, 
Will banish from earth all the wrong? 

If so we are sadly mistaken 
In the work we were meant to do; 
Let us give our hand as a token, 
To all, not just to a few. 




iiRRARY OF CONGRESS 

liliiiiiiHii, 

018 602 285^ W 



